One Day At a Time
by armour-dillo
Summary: A quick little oneshot about how Sarah fares after the beach. Because really, magic is for fairytales; and Sarah Walker ain't no fairytale.


**One Day At a Time**

**A/N: **_Hey guys. This is just a one shot about how Sarah takes it... yup, you guessed it- one day at a time- in her new life after the memories she lost don't come flooding back after that magical kiss. No beta here, so you'll have to forgive any mistakes, which are all mine, and accept that it being a little past my bedtime is a satisfactory excuse. And of course, this neither world nor its characters are mine, and I'm just being a puppeteer a la The Sound Of Music. Enjoy._

**xxx**_  
_

Sarah woke slowly. It was an unfamiliar comfort that she couldn't quite remember when exactly she woke, what the first thing she saw was, or how many times her eyes fluttered back shut. For Sarah, such unfamiliar comforts were becoming less uncommon as the days turned to weeks after that evening on the beach. Sarah, not quite knowing what to do with herself, had moved into the spare room of Chuck's house. Their house. It was just supposed to be until she figured out what exactly she ought to do next, but it was becoming apparent that such a thing was far easier said than done. And of course, Chuck was always around, asking her if she was alright, and did she need something else? So when last night he had announced that he was taking a short trip to meet with some potential new business partners, and that he would be leaving early, she wasn't quite sure if she felt relieved or anxious. But then, she hadn't known what to feel for quite some time now.

She that day without Chuck much like she spent most days- a jog, some reading, an attempt at cooking (she must have improved in the last five years because before she knew it, she'd somehow produced a plate of eggs Benedict in front of her) and her daily ritual of trying to jog her memory into remembering, finally remembering. As afternoon rolled into evening, she finally had to admit to herself- she was bored.

She strolled around the house looking for ways to entertain herself, and suddenly stopped short- outside Chucks' bedroom. Their bedroom. This was the one room in the house that she had stayed clear of- neither did she want to invade his privacy, no matter what he said about her being welcome to do so any time she wanted- nor was she sure she was ready. But today, she found herself carefully stepping inside.

The décor was simple, understated. Blue walls littered with posters depicting people she did not recognise, and references she did not understand. The Tron poster- the story of which Chuck had already recounted- made her smile. The bed was made, and the desk housed a computer and several books that did not look mainstream enough for her to have read. She thought idly that while this room easily reflected Chuck, it did not seem to have much of _her_ in it. She banished this thought though, thinking he'd probably made some changes after it was decided she was no longer going to be sleeping there any time soon. She took another tentative step inside, and then another. It felt odd, to be going through the things that were supposedly half hers. She moved to sit on the bed- just to see how it felt- when she noticed the picture frame on his bedside table. She picked it up and was mildly surprised to see that it was a picture of her. Now, there were a lot of pictures littered around their apartment- pictures of Ellie, and the Woodcombs with baby Clara. A rare picture of Chuck and Ellie from their childhood being embraced by their mother while their father stood smiling- albeit slightly awkwardly- behind them. Pictures of Chuck and Sarah from the park, from the courtyard outside their house (what on earth was she wearing? She looked like a space prostitute), from their wedding. She had already seen all of those many times.

This one though, was just her. And it was so intimate. Clearly taken from their honeymoon, it showed Sarah sitting on a white sandy beach in jean shorts looking over her shoulder at Chuck, the photographer. But that wasn't what took her breath away. It was the look on her face, the look in her eyes, that caught her off balance. Like she had exactly all the things she needed. Like she was exactly where she wanted to be. Sarah could not remember ever feeling that way.

She quickly put the photo down, and as she was getting up off the bed, her sleeve caught the knob of the top shelf, pulling it open. She was just about to push it back close, when something red inside caught her eye. A spy will. _Her_ spy will, to be exact. She took it out with trembling hands, and even though she knew exactly what was in it, she opened it anyway. The stiff white paper felt heavier in her hands than she remembered, and she unfolded it in surprise to find it much longer than the detached two paragraphs that she distinctly remembered writing a couple of years ago. With a deep breath, she sat on the floor besides the bed and began to read.

And that is how Chuck found her an hour later, leaning against the bedframe with three sheets of white A4 paper and a look that he couldn't quite decipher.

"Sarah?" he asked, a frown beginning to appear on his face. "What's wrong?"

"I…uh- I found this while I was just…"she murmured, not looking at his face.

Chuck knelt down next to her and prised the paper gently from her fingers, a quick sweep of his eyes over the page confirming what he had suspected.

"You gave this to me." he said. "Before."

Sarah still could not look up, look him in the eyes. The pages were filled with words, sentences, that she could not remember flowing out of her pen and manifesting themselves with such resonance on the paper. How was she supposed to reconcile this Sarah, who could write with such care and affection for a man she loved, when she couldn't feel it now? If her feelings were so strong, her lobe do true, then how could she forget it in the span of hours, minutes?

Chuck reached out his hand and gently placed them under her chin, raising her head so she was forced to meet his eyes. And somehow, he seemed to understand.

"Sarah… I know this is difficult. But there's no pressure here. Nobody expects you to suddenly have some massive epiphany and remember everything- feel just the way you did then." he said softly. "I mean, god knows I hoped- in those first few days. But it's okay. It doesn't mean I've given up. It just means this will take a little longer."

"It's not that." Sarah insisted, now looking at him, willing him to understand.

"Then what?" Chuck asked, confusion drawing over his features.

"How can I love a man that I barely know?" she exploded, sudden desperation lacing her voice and clouding her eyes.

Chuck looked at his hands, and then moved them so that they were lightly grasping hers. For a minute, he just sat there, gently rubbing circles onto her skin.

"You do know me, Sarah." he said. "You may not know every little detail- yet- but you know the big things. And the big things aren't things you can write down. They're the things that you can feel in here." he explained, motioning to his chest. "And maybe you're having a little trouble putting together the pieces right now, but it will come in time. And the little things? Those will come in time too."

He finished by smiling at her; not the big cheesy grin that she was becoming used to, but a small one. Genuine. Hopeful.

"And what if I don't? Don't remember, or worse, don't feel?" she demanded.

"Then that's okay too." said Chuck. "Because what we had, that's more than I could have ever hoped for. And I'll always have that. But Sarah?"

Her question was in her eyes rather than in her words.

"I know you don't know me all that well yet. But I'm pretty confident. You see, between me and this-" he grinned, beginning the Bartowski eyebrow dance "-we're going to win you over. One day at a time."

And then Sarah smiled too, and then she giggled, and even though she was still missing five years of her life and her emotions were wilder than a hormonal pregnant woman; she knew how she was going to do this. One day at a time.

**xxx**


End file.
